So dig it fellow Sternaholics, The Howard Stern Show sucked me in again. My bad. This morning's topic: a grade-school principal in Arizona who mandated a strict no-touch policy. What's a no touch policy? Glad you asked, here are a few parameters: no high-fives -- air fives, no hugs -- air hugs, no game of tag -- shadow-tag. In short, it's an unnatural, inhumane, sanitized existence that takes all the magic out of childhood, and makes it impossible for people to develop communication skills that go beyond mere words.
Is it any wonder that a social-inept like Howard Stern would view the no-touch policy as a godsend, and the epitome of civilization? Nah. However, what Howard won't own up to is the reason why this appeals to him. Howard is socially-retarded, and unable to comfortably relate to others. He keeps people at a distance, won't shake hands, carries anti-bacterial wipes, hates when someone looks at him, and then complains when he's left alone. He wants to be famous, yet bitches if someone merely takes his photo. The contradictions are as endless, as they are pathetic.
The true reason Howard loves the sad no-touchy policy is because he wants to be the proverbial Waldo in a sea of Waldos. He wants to live in a world where he won't stand out due to the fact that everyone will be as anti-social, and uncomfortable in their own skins as himself. As they say in France, Quelle domage - what a pity.
Seriously, I wish for once, Howard would be hip to himself. If party-pooper Stern wants to be a hermit, he should go lock himself up in his Hampton's Mansion and live like those crazy, reclusive Bouvier cousins did back in the 1970's in their Hampton's Grey Gardens hovel with a house full of feral felines. As for the rest of us well-adjusted people, we can play dodge ball, high-five, hug, hustle butt, and live a real life.
I'm sure enquiring minds would love to know what the no-touch principal's sex life is like. Talk about separate beds, how about separate states? I'm sure Beth O could provide some revealing insights on this topic, that is if she can spare the time from her duties tape recording Howard's loud snoring. In fact, I heard Howard gargles with breath freshener after sex, and he called Tom Chiusano a robot, indeed.
Or course a contributing factor to Howard's faygola-itis/anti-social personality could be his mother's raising him like a veal/hot-house flower who is more at ease with girls than with men. He truly is one of the girls. Rae Stern said so, and all the good ladies of Hadassah agree with her. Did you know that when the North Shore Animal League yentas meet at Howard's Manhattan luxury condo he personally serves them root beer floats with Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Pirouette straws? True that. Cough-faygot-cough. I feel sad for Ben Stern, he always wanted to have a son -- you know, someone who could engage in serious conversations about world affairs, someone with a deep baritone announcer's voice, someone he could go the race track with, bet on the horses, and throw back a few stiff Rob-Roy drinks with. What a let down, Howard couldn't even give his dad a grandson. Pussy, pussy, pussy!
For Howard Shrine Spews and Views, this is I. Humphrey saying, "Can't touch this, beyaaaatch."
